Birthday Cake
by cresmoon
Summary: Peeta gives Katniss an unexpected birthday surprise. Oneshot fluff/romance
1. Chapter 1

Birthday Cake

**Summary: Peeta gives Katniss an unexpected birthday surprise. fluff/romance/slight angst**

**Writer's note: Thanks to anyone who r/r my earlier fic. This one may lead to a multi-chapter follow-up. Maybe.**

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"Happy Birthday!" Peeta yelled exhuberantly.

I sighed inwardly, plastering a smile on my face. I was never big on celebrating birthdays; who would've been, growing up in District 12?

Oh, yes. My overly blonde and overly excitable boyfriend, Peeta.

Peeta pulled me into the kitchen, grinning infectiously. He's just the type who'd be more excited about my birthday than I am. "Ready for your birthday cake?" He dangled a berry above my head teasingly.

I groaned. "Peeta, it's very sweet but I really don't feel like cake today."

Peeta popped the berry into his mouth and waved dismissively. Well, he's the baker, after all. The cake is probably more for him than it is for me.

Or so I thought at the time.

"It's your big day," Peeta said firmly in his best I-won't-take-no-for-an-answer-and-you're-not-getting-out-of-here-without-eating cake voice. Of course it reminded me of a certain government official's constant reminders of how I was in for a "big, big, big day!" It was hard enough to convince Peeta I didn't want a party or guests showing up on this supposedly auspicious day. Cake, however, was the one thing I wasn't going to get out of.

Trying not to look too much like a killjoy, I sat at the kitchen table. Well, best to get it over with.

Giving me a quick once-over to make sure I wasn't going to make a run for it, Peeta nodded his approval. "Okay, now close your eyes."

Instead of closing them, I rolled them. "_Peeta_. It's a _cake_. I've seen cakes before."

"Close your eyes, or I don't bring it out. And we'll sit here till you close them. And I don't care if it takes all day. I'm just going to keep sitting here till you close them." Peeta stubbornly crossed his arms across his chest.

I tried to think back to our history together. Had Peeta Mellark always been such a child? Probably.

More to placate him than for any dire love for cake (even Peeta's cake, which I'd had before, which was admittedly delicious), I closed my eyes.

"Are your eyes closed?"

"Yes." Trying my best to keep my annoyance out of my voice. Birthdays, schmirthdays. I had better things to do with this non-occasion day.

I heard him take something off the kitchen counter and set it down on the table. "Okay, you're not peeking, right?"

I sighed. "No, not peeking."

I heard him fiddle with something. Probably candles and matches. "Okay, you can open your eyes."

I'd thought the cake must really be something, whatever it was. Peeta certainly was desperate to let me see it.

So I was surprised – maybe confused – well, maybe disappointed – well, maybe even a little upset – to note that it was just a plain cake with a fancy icing border and primroses and dandelions piped along its edges.

Nothing else on the cake, though. Not even a Happy Birthday Katniss piped on top even though it was a big enough cake. Plenty of room to squeeze on a few words on there.

This was ridiculous. What was there to be disappointed for? I hadn't even _wanted_ a cake! Really. But for a man who was the supposed love of my life, who pulled out all the stops for others' birthdays and weddings and anniversaries, but apparently had put what looked like a half-baked effort (no pun intended) in front of me…

Trying very hard to mask my disappointment, I looked up at Peeta and said somewhat jokingly "What, no Happy Birthday on the cake?" I smiled, trying to keep my tone as light as I could. I really didn't want to turn this into a big deal.

Peeta's expression suddenly became more serious. "Oh, that's right, I forgot something, didn't it?" he said in a theatrically slow voice, as though he was only pretending to forget something. He reached for a pastry bag that had been left on the cake board and aimed the tip of the bag toward the cake. "Let's just fix that, shall we?" he said quietly. He started piping onto the cake.

Why was he acting so odd?

Suddenly completely quiet, Peeta began icing letters onto the cake. But not the letters I expected.

_W_…

So now he'd forgotten how to spell "Happy Birthday"?

_I_…

"Uh, Peeta?" I said in the same half-joking tone. "You do know how 'happy birthday' is spelled starting with an "_H_", right?"

Peeta, brow furrowed in utmost concentration, as though this was going to be the most important thing he'd ever do, didn't answer. He just kept piping letters onto the cake.

_L_…

Another _L_…

I was now seriously starting to worry he'd suffered a head injury. Or quite possibly a stroke. One where he had lost all his mental faculties somehow.

But Peeta couldn't stop piping. And I couldn't stop watching the letters come up, slowly forming into words. The first word on the first line:

"_Will"_

And then:

_Y_…

_O_…

_U_…

Next line:

_M_…

_A_…

_R_…

_R_…

_Y_…

And the final line.

_M_…

_E?_

_Will you marry me?_

Peeta finally put down the pastry bag and looked up at me. Dumbstruck, I looked up at him. For a while neither of us spoke.

"That doesn't say 'happy birthday'" I said dumbly, a complete loss for words.

"No," said Peeta softly, a hint of a smile on his face. He reached into his back pocket and took out a small box and propped it open. A ring box. With a ring inside. "And this isn't a bread box."


	2. Chapter 2

**Writer's note:** Yeah, so. First off, hearty thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, etc. the first part.

You got me. I write one-shots and if at all I say I might write a follow-up, I'll admit I do take time doing it. I'm just like that so sorry about taking so long to put this up. TBH I'm very bad at multi-part fics and rarely write them.

Originally, I was going to jump to the wedding but then I had an idea to write this follow-up, which doesn't even have Peeta in it. I may write a scene where Katniss gives Peeta her answer or I may not, really it depends on my mood so apologies if this isn't the follow up you were hoping for. But one day, maybe, I might write a follow-up I've tentatively titled 'Old-Fashioned Wedding.' Time allowing.

Enough of my blathering, on with the show. Once again, thanks, feedback is welcome, even more so than silent favoriting without any comments.

**Summary:** Peeta proposes to Katniss. Katniss needs to talk about it. And who better to talk with than a lovably cranky drunk of a mentor?

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"Haymitch, open the door!" My hands were already bruised from banging on the door for the past few minutes. Damn it, he must've passed out again. "I have to talk to you!"

Before I could raise my fist again, the door swung open, Haymitch glaring through bleary eyes, obviously groggy and hungover. "Hey, take it easy, sweetheart, I'm not deaf!"

Raising one hand in front of his eyes to shield them from the sunlight, he gestured me to come in. "What the hell is it that you have to wake me up out of my fine beauty sleep so early in the morning?"

"It's almost noon." I stalked past him into the living room.

"Well, early for me," he muttered in annoyance, closed the door, collapsing on the nearest couch. "Can I get you something? Water? Coffee? Sedatives?" He didn't even bother to look up as he carefully broke the seal off a new bottle of vodka.

Other people got scholars and leaders for their mentors. I got the district's crabbiest drunk.

"Peeta proposed to me today."

His hand froze on the bottle. "Ah. Okay. So the poor sucker for punishment actually went through with it, did he?"

I glowered at him. "You knew about this?"

"Well, of course I knew about it, he's been planning it for months, the poor sod." Haymitch set the bottle down.

"That's the great thing about you kids," he continued sarcastically, "so many years after the games are over I _still_ gotta deal with your damn lovey-dovey drama. No wonder I still drink."

"Like you'd ever give it up anyway."

"Well, I'd at least _consider_ it if it weren't for you two."

"Yeah, for a whole ten seconds."

He pointed a bottle opener at me. "So what the hell are you doing here talking to me? I'm not your mother. Or your fiancé to be or doormat or whatever you call him now."

It was a cheap shot since Haymitch knew about my relationship with my mother and certainly the doormat comment stung but I had too much on my mind to care. "I told him I'd think about it."

Haymitch reached for the bottle again, muttering to himself like I wasn't there. "Write it on a cake, he said. He couldn't just ask like normal kids, no, he has to make a grand gesture."

He shook his head dramatically, pouring the vodka. "But you kids were never normal, were you?"

"Are you going to keep ranting on or are you going to help me?"

"What do you want my help for? This can only go two ways. It's pretty much a yes or no answer we're dealing with here."

He let out a loud belch as I winced.

"Either you say yes and subject the poor boy to your sullenness for the rest of your lives, or you say no and stomp all over his heart. _Again_."

I gritted my teeth, trying with every fiber of my being to resist launching myself at him and throttling him.

And yet, it wasn't entirely like everything he was saying didn't have a grain of truth to it.

Maybe even more than a grain.

"I…I don't know what to do," I said. "I just don't know if I'm, I mean, if _we're_ –"

"…Ready?"

"Yeah, something like that, I guess."

"To live together and cook each other dinner and bake and hunt and pop out little Peetas and Katnisses to chase after?"

I blanched. "Kids? Peeta and me?" I croaked.

"Well, yeah, if he's like most guys, I'm sure he'll want at least one. Maybe even two. I told him to have boys so they're less likely to be like you."

I scowled. I should've just brought my bow and shot him.

Haymitch's face looked knowing as he softened his voice. "He _does_ know you don't want kids, right?" Haymitch's eyes narrowed. "I mean, you still _don't_, do you?"

"I – I don't know. We've never really talked about it."

We fell silent for a few moments.

"The games are over, you know." Haymitch piped in quietly.

"I know."

"So…"

"But everything else isn't over."

More silence as we both sat pondering this comment.

Of course it was true that the Hunger Games were over for good. That my once-fears of sending off my own children to be killed were no longer there.

Now there were new fears. New scars, both physical and emotional. Peeta's hijacking flashbacks. His missing leg. My nightmares.

Our friends and family dead. Finnick, Cinna, Madge, Rue, Prim.

We might be gone from the arena, but the arena would never really be gone from us.

I looked up to realize Haymitch was studying me. For some reason, I didn't look away from his searching eyes. "What do you think I should do?" I said, asking him more out of curiosity than anything else.

Haymitch slowly screwed the cap back onto the bottle. "You know I can't really _tell_ you what to do."

"I know. But I just want to know what you think."

"You know what I think already. You know what I know already." I had never heard Haymitch's voice sound so resolutely firm. "It's the same thing I told you since day one. Which is that that boy will never leave you. It doesn't matter to him how hard it gets or how much it hurts or the nightmares or the hijack memories, you know, you just know, that that boy would follow you to the ends of the earth. And then some."

"Yes," I whispered. "But what about the – the other boy?"

Haymitch looked genuinely puzzled. "Other boy?"

"…The one with the flashbacks."

"Ah."

"Yes."

Haymitch frowned thoughtfully. I noticed he wasn't even reaching for the bottle anymore. Definitely a serious talk.

"Does he – I mean has he – been having a lot of, um, _episodes_ lately?" Haymitch's voice was surprisingly gentle.

"Actually, no," I admitted. "I even think they're getting fewer as time goes on. Sometimes it seems like it anyway."

"Hmm."

"Mmm."

"…But you're still worried?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "I think I always will. I don't know if it'll all ever really leave me. Leave us. Any of us. The games, the fighting, the people who died, the uprising or the fighting or the hijacking or any of it. I still have the nightmares."

"But you'll keep living with it anyway because you have to," said Haymitch very calmly.

"Yes."

"So that's it, really, isn't it, sweetheart?" he continued rhetorically, not an ounce or derision or even sarcasm in his voice. "I mean, either you live with all of it by yourself – or you have the boy with the bread who worships you, live with it with you. Which is what he's asking you to do. Because for who knows what reason, he loves you more than life itself. And you love him, too. At least I think you still do. And that other boy is not the boy with the bread, is he? He's a stranger who comes for a few seconds every once in a while until you call Peeta, your Peeta, back to you. That boy isn't here to stay. _Peeta's_ here to stay. Because Peeta, your Peeta, would never, ever leave you."

"…I never thought of it that way," I said slowly.

"Yeah, well, I'm sure it's hard to think with all the grumpiness running around in your brain."

And the sarcastic drunk was back.

Just as well though since I didn't need to talk any more. I got up.

Noticing my new resolve, Haymitch fixed a knowing look on his face. Or was it smug? At any rate, it was irritating.

"So when's the wedding?"

"Behave yourself," I retorted. "Or you're not invited. We may not even tell you when it is."

Haymitch snorted, smiling as he stood up. "Yeah, fat chance of that, sweetheart. You have _no_ idea what the boy has planned for you. He wants a – what did he call it? – real, old-fashioned wedding." Haymitch grinned mischievously as he walked me to the door.

I frowned. "A what? What the hell does that mean?"

Haymitch kept grinning. "Well, I guess we'll find out, won't we? Now go straight to him and tell him yes, make the boy's lifelong dream come true, go on...too bad he couldn't have dreamed of getting a pony like normal boys."

"You know sometimes you're almost better drunk, don't you?"

"Does that mean I get to bring this?" Haymitch pulled his usual flask out of his pants pocket. I just shook my head.

Haymitch feigned a pout. "Okay, fine, but there'd better be refreshments at this damn wedding."

"I'll see you later. Try to stay sober for at least another hour."

"I'll do that, sweetheart. And you try not to bite anyone's head off for at least another ten minutes." Trying not to roll my eyes again, I stepped out the door.

"Oh, and Katniss?"

"Hmm?"

"Congratulations."

Finally an actual, sincere word from Haymitch Abernathy. I felt almost touched. "Thanks, Haymitch."

"That's to _you_. I have a different message for Peeta."

"Which is?"

Haymitch flashed me a wicked grin. "My condolences."


	3. Chapter 3

Wedding Cake

**Summary: The third in my birthday cake series, a short little follow-up. Peeta has a very important cake to make. Will he ever get it right?**

**Writer's note: Thanks again for all the reviews on earlier chapters. I AM going to get to the wedding story I'm planning, well, eventually.  
**

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Peeta eyed the cake critically. He wanted to scream. He'd been working on it for almost weeks now but all he wanted to do was light all his pastry bags on fire. He dropped into the chair, letting out a huge sigh of frustration. What was the point? The wedding was tomorrow. Game over.

Normally, a little baking and cake decorating didn't fluster Peeta Mellark. But this cake had had his nerves on edge since the very start. He was to the point of considering running out on the wedding. He was just a baker, after all.

Pack up. Take everything and take off to the woods.

Not that he could.

He heard a sharp rap on the door. Wondering who it could be at this time of night – it was almost 10 – he didn't have the strength to get up and answer it. Probably Haymitch dropping in to see how he was holding up, but Haymitch was the last person Peeta wanted to see.

The knocking continued, getting progressively louder. Annoyed, Peeta wondered just how drunk he could be. No way to tell with Haymitch.

"Go away, we're closed!"

Before he could say another word, the door busted open.

Ah. _Not_ Haymitch.

Instead a very irritated bride-to-be stood there with her hands on her hips, frowning, her eyes burning holes through Peeta as she strode up to him, almost glaring.

Peeta was about to think of something to say when, thankfully, Katniss's gaze softened at the groom-to-be and she pulled a chair next to him and sat.

"Peeta, it's just a cake." Katniss's voice bordered on exasperated affection.

Peeta jumped up, trying to block her view of the cake. "You're not supposed to see it till tomorrow!"

Katniss rolled her eyes. "I thought you weren't supposed to see _me_ till tomorrow? Or is it me in my wedding dress?" She scowled. "What is it with these stupid rules anyway, who made them up?"

Peeta shrugged, grinning as he brushed her hair off her forehead. "Who knows? I thought it would be fun, you know, getting married the way they did way back before Panem." He reluctantly moved away from the cake. "And I wanted the cake to be a surprise."

Katniss took his hands in hers. "It's a _cake_."

"It's our _wedding cake_!"

"And I'm sure it's beautiful and will be delicious," said Katniss firmly. "And I'm marrying you, not a cake."

"Good thing, too," muttered Peeta. "You wouldn't want to marry this cake."

Katniss poked him playfully in the chest. "You're being silly."

"Hey, I take pride in my work! I want this cake to be perfect!"

"I'm sure you do, but come on, you know it'll never be good enough for you. You're too close to it. You should've just let Greasy Sae make it."

"Someone other than me make our wedding cake? Not a chance!" huffed Peeta. He crossed his arms. "And this is my thing, Katniss. It's what I do. It's what I'm known for."

"No, what you're known for is being Peeta. My Peeta. My lovely strong, wonderful, gentle, kind, caring and sweet Peeta. The man I'm marrying tomorrow." Katniss paused, then added rather pointedly, "Not just the man with the perfect cake."

Peeta smiled. "Or the boy with the bread?"

"The boy with the bread always be there. So will the girl on fire," whispered Katniss. "But we're moving on. I don't need a perfect cake. I just need you." Katniss pulled him into an embrace. Peeta smiled, putting his arms around his soon-to-be-wife.

"Now can we please go home?"

Peeta frowned, putting the cake back in the enormous bakery fridge. "Didn't Effie say something about the bride and groom not spending the night before the wedding together?"

"Effie can stuff it. And so can Haymitch, if he decides to show up drunk. Or there's any alcohol anywhere _near_ our wedding."

"Uh, Katniss?"

"Hmm?"

Peeta flashed her a playful grin. "It's a _rum_ cake."


End file.
